


will the world still spin?

by sextile



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: ...Kinda, Blood and Injury, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, but its v light, hurt comfort, its complicated, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:41:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29161347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sextile/pseuds/sextile
Summary: there was always too much wantingwhere endings turn into beginnings
Relationships: Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Comments: 9
Kudos: 46
Collections: SunaOsa Valentine's Exchange





	will the world still spin?

**Author's Note:**

> WEEWOOO SORRY IF THIS IS A LIL TOO ANGSTY FOR A VALENTINES FIC BUT UHHH I HOPE U ENJOY <3

A knock on the door.

Hurried bangs quickly weaned off into quiet thuds of palm against wood, rendered mute by the harsh claps of thunder that rattled window panes. 

Osamu stared at his door for a moment before putting down his book and walking over to the peephole. It was well past midnight and the only people that knew his address would’ve been asleep. 

Looking out, he glimpsed a hunched figure, shivering under a thick jumper that was soaking wet and thrown over their shoulders. The minimal light provided by the lamp just outside his apartment did nothing to reveal the visitor’s intentions, but curiosity caught a hold of him and he opened the door. 

It quickly flung out from his grasp, the wind gleefully slamming it against the wall with a shuddering bang, and his eyes landed on the shaking man in front of him. His dark hair was plastered to his forehead and Osamu reached for his baseball bat once he realised the man in front of him was an enemy. Ex-best friend. Ex boyfriend. A stranger. 

(A stranger whose outline still filtered its way into his dreams at 3am, invisible hands brushing over planes of skin, ghost lips devouring every piece of him he would offer.)

He took his bat and gripped it tighter, bringing it into view and pointing it at Suna’s lowered chest. “What the fuck are you doing here?” he hissed, voice flimsy against the splatters of rain against the wood of the hallway that pooled and spread through the cracks of the floorboards. 

Suna stood straighter with a wince, revealing an arm wrapped around his stomach, thin t-shirt doing nothing to hide blood seeping around his hand. He smirked, but it didn’t take over the shaking fear in his hazy eyes. “Now sweetheart, that’s not how y’greet someone bleeding out at your front door.” 

Suna’s eyes flickered from the point of the bat to his face, smirk faltering for a second so brief Osamu could think it was a trick of the light.

He wasn’t keen on letting Suna into his apartment, but he was less inclined to let a person bleed on his welcome mat–for the sake of his mat. Not Suna.

(Or maybe it was for Suna. His fingers shook and it wasn’t from the cold. His heart hammered against his chest like persistent sirens. His body still betrayed him.)

“C’mon babe,” Suna continued, words slurring, barely noticeable to anyone else. “I’ll be out before morning. Don’t even need t’ make me breakf–”

Suna pitched forward. 

He tumbled into Osamu who’s arms shot out on instinct, dropping the bat to the floor and catching him with no effort. Muscles and bones and blood remembering how they worked around Suna. Remembering the years he’s kept stored in a crate at the bottom of his stomach. 

(He hoped the sea would rot the wood but the past had a habit of resurfacing when you least expected it to.)

The rain continued to plummet down, the angle of the storm now threatening to flood his apartment. Osamu sighed, shutting the door and locking it before carrying Suna to his guest room, a dead, warm weight in his hands. Something old in a new place. 

The universe seemed to enjoy placing uncomfortable situations in his path and bitterly, he thought back to when he was holding Suna under different circumstances. He placed his unconcious guest on the bed and flicked on the lights, dragging a brighter lamp to shine onto his wound. 

People came to him for remedies. To perform miracles and make something out of nothing. He was a doctor, a healer, a magician for his city, and duty-bound, he attended to the enemy-stranger (not best friend nor boyfriend) whose breathing dipped and swayed like the heart in Osamu’s throat. The heart he hoped would stay still because a shaking heart could be just as detrimental as shaking hands working on a shaking body. 

He removed the wet jumper and dropped it on the back of a chair, lifting Suna’s shirt to his chest. Osamu assessed the damage as he staunched the blood flow and began to perform another miracle with practiced ease. The wound was simple but it were his thoughts that built incessant chatter at the back of his mind, a brainless audience member that enjoyed questioning those who knew what they were doing. 

An hour passed and he allowed himself to breathe as he packed up the equipment he kept at home. The mundane task quietened the voice over his shoulder, white noise of running water and the  _ tap tap _ of rain on his ceiling bringing him from his thoughts to his body, the sharp and familiar scent of disinfectant keeping him tied to his tools. To his hands that no longer shook. To the stable, shallow breaths in the room just next to his storage space. 

Osamu returned to the guest room and dimmed the lights. He gently took off Suna’s damp, bloodied shirt, replacing it with one of his own sweaters. Then he spent five minutes debating whether or not he should replace his pants, decidedly thinking  _ fuck it, I’ve seen the bitch naked  _ and swapping it for his most comfortable sweatpants.

He scrubbed at the bloodstain on Suna’s shirt, hanging it alongside the rest of his clothes out to dry. He didn’t allow himself the hope that Suna would stay long enough for him to get his clothes properly washed. 

Tired, Osamu tugged the chair closer to Suna’s side, watching his chest rise and fall. He lingered on the restless movements of his face, eyes dropping to his parted, cracked lips. He yawned and rested his chin on his hand, elbow on the edge of the bed. “Why’re ya here, Sunarin?” he whispered, question directed to the slope of his cheekbone, the pale colour of his cheeks, the bags under his eyes. “I miss you but I know you’ll leave again.”

( _ I miss you _ , he says, like a promise.  _ I miss you _ , he says like a kiss.  _ I miss you,  _ he says, as if three words could take on the weight of yearning, could take on the weight of the wish he had held Suna’s hand tighter and kissed him harder and loved him better enough, so much that he would stay.)

Without thinking, he let his knuckle graze against Suna’s cheek. Something like a taunt for himself. “Even bleedin’ out, yer goddamn beautiful,” he murmured, dropping his hand to the sheets. “And even when yer the bad guy here, I’m still helpin’.” 

Osamu breathed out slowly, casting his eyes to the ceiling. “When you went missing, I didn’t leave my room for a week.” His voice came out a hoarse whisper. “I thought it was my fault you had gone. We were supposed ‘ta look out for each other…” he trailed off, clearing his voice as quietly as he could but Suna still stirred. Osamu froze, and a second later, relaxed, hearing even breaths. “Why’d ya hafta leave?”

He fell asleep minutes later, cheek pressed against the bedsheet, dampened by rainwater. Silence was a heavy blanket that ran her hands through his hair, whispering dreams built on fragmented memories and forgotten desires that he had kept locked and chained. 

Two hours had passed when he woke to the pained moan beside him. Suna’s legs kicked the covers and quiet gasps and whimpers slipped from his mouth. His eyes were screwed shut and the corners of his mouth dug into his face with a frown. 

Even after years, Osamu remembered Suna, asleep and plagued with nightmares in their shared dorm of a school that no longer existed. And as he did then, he placed a hand on Suna’s shoulder, rousing him from sleep.

“I’ll kill you!” Suna yelled, fingers digging into the mattress as his eyes flew open. His chest heaved with every laboured breath. 

Osamu stepped back, raising his hands. “Slow down there, darlin’. That’s no way to greet someone who saved ya from yer dreams.” 

Suna groaned and shut his eyes, sweat coating his forehead. He looked down at his clothes and slipped a hand under the sweater, pressing a palm to his bandaged wound and wincing. “Fuck, Osamu.”

“Don’t touch it,” he said gently, taking a hold of Suna’s wrist and placing it back to his side. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and pushed his bangs away from his face, reverting back to what he knew worked to keep Suna calm. “Darlin’, breathe. It’s okay, I’m here now.”

The air was heavy in the room and Suna felt tears grasping at the edge of his eyes. He told himself he was too old to be crying over nightmares, but he knew it was the familiar touch that tore him apart. It was how Osamu dragged his fingers through his hair, how his voice– _ darlin’ _ –was the same as it had always been, how his clothes smelled distinctly of the man beside him, even though it had felt like he had forgotten the scent. 

“Hold me,” he choked out. “Please.”

Those were the wrong words to say, but desperation was a bitch and he longed to return to when everything was good. When everything from breakfast the next morning to having Osamu beside him was assured and expected and  _ normal. _

Osamu looked at him with eyes far too soft to be brushed off as concern, to be brushed off as pity for someone who was coloured pink in memories tainted by the lingering resentment of time. He hesitated, fingers dropping from his hair and instead pinching the sheet of the mattress. “Rin…I don't think–”

“I know, I know, Osamu,” he rasped, clutching at his hand. His eyes were wide and implored forgiveness, sought comfort and familiarity and  _ Osamu.  _ “But please, we can pretend for a moment can’t we?”

Osamu looked at him with those quiet eyes, fingers instinctively intertwining with Suna’s own. He was always helpless to Suna, and that hadn’t changed. Matted hair and flushed cheeks Suna. Wet eyes and cold hands Suna. A memory and an opportunity all at once– and it still wasn’t enough. 

“Yeah,” he whispered. “We can pretend.” 

(But pretension would always cave to honesty and sincerity. He knew that.)

Osamu sat on the bed, leaning against the wall as Suna positioned himself at his side, curled up and pulling the covers to his chin. He rested his cheek on his shoulder as he sank into Osamu, body remembering touch. Body remembering the shape of Osamu’s hands around him, remembering the solidity of thigh and arm and chest.

“Ya comfy there, Rin?” he asked, concern lacing murmured words as he wrapped an arm around Suna, hand resting at his hip. He couldn’t resist falling into the demands of his wants, melting into Suna, melting into his skin. Regrets could come later and the small shelter of their bodies were for them,  _ now _ , not for memories,  _ later. _

Suna hummed in confirmation, nestling into Osamu’s warmth. “Yes,” he breathed. His eyes fluttered closed, listening to calm breaths of the man (Saviour? Healer? Friend?) beside him. He spoke into the air, quiet. “I missed you too.”

He heard Osamu’s noise of surprise and he smiled to himself. “I was awake when you asked me why I was here,” he said. “Must be a shit doctor if you can’t even tell if someone’s sleeping, huh?” 

“Shut the fuck up, Rin,” Osamu replied, pinching his thigh. He ignored the implication that he had heard his confessions. His  _ I know you’ll leave again _ . (Too much wanting, there was always too much wanting with Suna.) “How’re ya still a jerk after workin’ with  _ literally  _ the enemy of the state?” 

Suna stayed quiet for a long enough time that Osamu assumed he didn’t want to answer. And he didn’t pretend to expect an answer. He had taught himself not to expect anything with Suna, but that didn’t keep him from wanting, treacherous heart, treacherous body always wanting. 

Looking down at Suna, he checked to see if he was asleep, but was surprised to find that he had tears welling up in his eyes. “I didn’t want to,” Suna whispered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to leave. I thought I was doing the right thing by going. I really did.” 

“Fuck, Rin.” Osamu turned to him and his hands went up to cup Suna’s face, thumbs brushing away tears that slid down his cheeks. 

An unsteady exhale tripped past Suna’s lips and he looked away. “Sorry for not giving you a warning. And I don’t expect forgiveness or anything. I’m probably the cause of half your patients.” 

Osamu sighed and dropped his hands from Suna’s face, holding his hands instead. “Rin, look at me.” 

“Fucker I’ll cry harder if I look at you _ , _ ” he muttered, eyes still trained on the wall opposite them. His hands were limp in Osamu’s, refusing to give way to touch. “I should go. I shouldn’t be here,” he continued. But he stayed where he was seated, making no move to leave.

“ _ Rintarou. _ ”

Suna closed his eyes and rested his forehead on Osamu’s chest. His fingers curled around Osamu’s and he clutched them loosely, bending to the will of his own weakness. “Yes?” 

“I’m not gonna pretend I know what you’re goin’ through or know what you’ve done– that’d be pretty fuckin’ shit of me. But…” Osamu trailed off, squeezing Suna’s hands before releasing them and trailing them up his back and pulling him tight against himself. “I’m also not gonna pretend I’m not gonna keep waitin’ for ya.” 

Suna grasped at the back of Osamu’s shirt like it was his only lifeline, nails forming indents in the fabric. Voice muffled, he said, “You’ve been waiting for me for years now. I can’t make you wait longer.” 

Osamu looked down at Suna’s body, curled small against his. He kissed the top of his head–to comfort Suna or himself, he didn’t know. “Then don’t. Stay. Stay with me, Rin.”

( _ Stay.  _ A pebble thrown into water, creating ripples that blend and mould and collapse into each other until they form lines in sandbars, echoes of movement on the surface.  _ Stay. _ The tower in a tarot deck, but instead of strangers, it’s two lovers grasping for one another, knowing that love won’t save them but death won’t keep them apart.  _ Stay. Stay with me. _ Heaven melting into the sky, into the sea and ocean floor, into wanting hands and wanting lips and wanting skin, and touch, and love.)

“Stay? I don’t think I could live without you next to me.”

**Author's Note:**

> please leave a kudos/comment if u feel so inclined <333


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